Sanhill Crane Quartet

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

I'm going to be a German Shepherd when I grow up. I'm going to be
big and strong and have really long teeth and scare all the other dogs with my low,
slow growl. I will eat my weight in steak and just walk up onto to any piece of
furniture with my long legs. I will lie down anywhere I want, whenever I want.
Just look at me, at my coloring and markings. It's obvious that I'm going to be
a purebred German Shepherd.

Fiona looked like a German Shepherd puppy, especially when her
floppy ears went erect. And she grew quickly, but stopped at nine pounds. Her
muzzle never grew long, and her teeth, though sharp, are not long. She's a
princess with a wardrobe larger than that of many humans. She has enough toys to last
a hundred lifetimes, and she loves the squeaky toys, the louder the better. And she
kills them. Yes, in spite of her size, Fiona is a warrior princess and has even
killed a mouse. Well, she discovered a dead mouse and made sure it was dead.
She watches the neighborhood, alerting her people to the approach of strangers.
She is nine pounds of physically fit, beautiful Chorkie, using her long legs to
jump onto all the furniture. Well, most of it. She lies down where ever she
wishes, whenever she wishes.

That was then and this is now. I am a Chorkie, a damned sexy, well
dressed, smart Chorkie. I am pretty sure if I ever run into a German Shepherd,
I'll be able to take her. I am Fiona, the Warrior Princess.

I am Renard, and this is my bed. My
cousin Fiona's girl gave it to me for my first Christmas in the family. It
stays under my girl’s desk, and I lie in it to be near her when she writes,
like she is right now. I don't stay in it as much as I used to, but that's because I'm pretty
sure she can't get out of the room without me seeing her. I looked really hard
and long for a new home. It must have been years or months, and, now that I have
her, I'm not going to let her go.

Renard is my muse. He inspires my work; he sits at my side when I
meditate, read, draw, write, and eat. Renard doesn't like dog beds. He has a
sofa, a love seat, and a people bed. What would he do with a dog bed? But the pretty
bed with the plaid, dog-bone-shaped pillow and matching blanket that rests
under my teacher's desk is different. It's where my canine buddy rests,
watching my feet and legs for any movement. If I get up, he's out of the door
just ahead of me, leading the way to the living room or bedroom or bathroom, turning his head back toward me, making sure I'm following.

I like living with my girl. I would like it better if she would
let me run around outside without a leash, but we go out hunting together
several times a day, and she feeds me really good food, and she finally found me
some treats that I really really like--duck jerky. I don't eat treats every day,
but I really like them. And she rubs my belly. And she schushys me every day,
sometimes three and four times a day. Oh, I'm sorry. "Schushy" is when she rubs
my head and scratches my body and kisses my nose and says, "Schushy, schushy,
schushy," over and over, all at the same time. I love my girl, even if she does
bark a lot. Humans do that. They bark a lot. Not loud. More like a mumble, but
still.

Saturday, January 10, 2015

Hi! I’m George! This is my
toy. I love my toy. I take it with me everywhere. You can play with my toy, if
you want to. Do you want to? Also, I like to swim! Do you like to swim? We can
swim. I’ll carry my toy so it doesn’t get wet.

This is George. He’s a golden retriever mix of
an advanced aged. He’s been with his people for some time and just loves them
and going to the dog park and swimming in the lake or the pond or the stream—or
even in a big puddle. His boy and girl picked him because they wanted a big, loveable
dog with a big bark to be their friend. George does bark when strangers come to
the house, but if he ever caught one, he would smother the bad guy with kisses
after knocking him down. When George’s boy and girl found him, he was about three
years old. He had had a home. Sort of. But his people never fed him enough.
They never took him to the vet. They never let him into the house. And they
never played with him. Animal Control picked him up from the front yard where
he was chained.

I was scared at first. The
men had a long stick with a loopy thing. They picked me up and put me in a
truck. They took me to a place with lots of people, who poked at me and probed
my private places. Then they made me take a bath. But all the time, they petted
me and talked to me, and then they gave me food and something called a “treat.”
I like treats! After a while, my boy and girl came to get me. I was in a place
with other dogs. We all had cages. I didn’t like the cage, but at least I was
inside so the rain didn’t get on me.

My boy and girl looked at some
of the other dogs, just to be polite, but I could tell they were really there
for me. They must have been waiting since I got there. I guess that was a long
time. One of the bath people put a soft chain on me. He called it a leash. Then
my girl and boy kneeled down in front of me and scratched my head and petted me,
and the girl gave me a soft thing that made a squeaky sound when I bit it. A
toy! I never had a toy before. Now, I only put it down when I eat and sleep.

Thursday, January 1, 2015

I live to dig! Just give me
some dirt. I smell them, those stinky things, and unearth them! I love to dig .
. . dig . . . dig holes, looking for stinky treasure. You never know what
you’ll find. Yep! That’s me. I’m Jasper.

Jasper was a rescue. Now he’s a much loved,
overgrown puppy, just a little over a year old. His “boy,” a man of a certain
age, sits while his buddy Jasper runs and plays. Jasper’s boy keeps an eye out,
afraid there might be a bit of a bully in Jasper. When he picked this Ridgeback
mix out at the shelter, the then-unnamed dog was underweight but filled with
love and energy. The pup wagged his tail so fast he nearly fell over. Jasper
had chosen his boy. By the time I met Jasper at the dog park, he was a strong, well-fed,
loving adolescent.

When the people with the
truck picked me up, I was having breakfast at my favorite dumpster, behind the
place where other people eat. Some people throw away perfectly good food, back
there. But whenever I went to talk to a human around there, they would turn
their backs or shoo me away. It hurt my feelings. But the men in the truck,
they were nice. They took me to the place where my boy found me. When I saw
him, my boy, I knew something good was going to happen. And it did! The boy
took me home, and when we got there, he let me come in to the house! My new boy
didn’t make me stay outside.

Now, I have my own bed. I
even have a toy, a round fuzzy thing he calls a ball. I have everything: a boy,
a ball, a bed, and lots of food. And I even get treats sometimes. I used to
have another home, I think. I don’t remember. But it’s okay, because now I have
my boy.